Still Waters

Chapter One

When she first really looked at him, she thought was the most beautiful person -heck, the most beautiful thing- she had seen in her entire life. They were on the hallway that leads to the Slytherin Common Room, somewhere near the entrance. It was a dark, forbidding place, and neither laughing and chatting (calculated and well-weighed words, they were Slytherins, after all), or kisses and whispers could smooth the edge of the cold stone walls.

He was talking calmly in a corner to some of his cronies -he had plenty, and most of them were dying to have him address a word to them- while looking around casually to see that nobody noticed the exchange. She did, and he must've felt her eyes boring into his back, because he turned and stared right at her.

She drowned into his eyes, but managed to drag herself from the alcove where she had sheltered herself to allow the older Slytherin pack to pass just moments later, and she strode slyly out of his sight and into the Common Room. It took her only a few seconds, because as soon as the feeling of his eyes burning into her was gone, she sprinted towards the door at full speed.

She was free of questioning as she hurried through the large, inhospitable room, with its serpent décor and windowless walls. She had ceased to notice the blank looks her housemates were giving her. A long time ago, during her second week at Hogwarts, some of the older students were bullying her in a corner of the Common Room, when a second-year casually waved his hand at them and said, "Let her be, we have more important matters to attend to". Her oppressors released her immediately, and, since Tom Riddle had considered her to be unimportant, so did they. From that day on, she was as good as invisible.

All the better for her. She was an innate observer, and the fact that others rarely paid attention to her beyond asking for a quill or something of the sort, she could exercise her talent undisturbed. She would watch their tense exchange of words, the battle for social recognition, the way they never allowed themselves to cross lines except when they had very much to gain by doing so, and she learned that belonging to a House was only for show.

You couldn't belong unless you were a part of the game, and, as she was rendered powerless on the matter almost as soon as she set foot inside the dungeons, she was free to judge the players. Not that her judgment mattered to anyone except herself, but she wanted to know. She wanted to know everything they could possibly teach her, because she knew there was life beyond Hogwarts, and had every intention of playing the game when the cone of shadow no longer existed.

Tom Riddle had always been a rather hard case to crack. While the others' reasons were easy to see, especially the ulterior motives, he was such a good player, that he not only got away with anything, but he was worshipped by the very people he had stepped over in the process, and he seemed to do this completely naturally.

During her third year, she had had a revelation. Tom Riddle was the future leader of Slytherins. Of course, to her eternal shame, by that time he had already made himself the leader, and she was forced to admit he had outwitted even her, who wasn't as much as blinded by the proceedings of the Game.

He was like steel wrapped in velvet. He was a lake; he could project any image on the surface, but she alone could see the hollow darkness behind it, and it made her very uneasy. Watching was her game, and she played it perfectly, except where he was concerned. Because when he came into play, all the others would mirror what he projected on the surface, and she would have to focus solely on his ulterior motives.

It made her angry that he could sway everyone so easily, and therefore make all her careful watching pointless, but at the same time, it was fascinating. The funny thing was, only one of the teachers had seen his true nature, and he wasn't telling anyone, but Dumbledore kept a very close watch indeed. Tom must feel the old man breathing down his neck every single time they're in the same room, she mused, and continued to watch the mind game the two of them shared.

She never doubted that it would be Tom who would win eventually, because, unlike the old teacher, Tom was ruthless, and most of all, a Slytherin. Slytherins were notorious for their cunning, as it was their sole common trait -except for, perhaps, cruelty-, and Dumbledore was nothing if not kind.

The victor was obvious, and the delay of the final battle made her nervous. It would be a full-on thunderstorm, she knew, and she regretted not having the opportunity to watch it. Even if it would blaze in the Great Hall, Dumbledore would most certainly take it to his office.

So she continued studying Riddle's mind with morbid fascination; watching it evolve and stray deeper into darkness, until it reached untold depths, last year. When Tom obtained full power over his House, she saw him plunge into darkness headfirst, she watched him drown every shred of humanity into the black lake that lay behind his eyes, and she watched it with anticipation. After all, her father had told her that the most powerful men are those who stop being human. That was precisely what Riddle had done, and she was eager and frightened to watch the proceedings.

As she walked towards the Common Room that night, thinking about this, a group of older Slytherins made their way towards her, shoving the younger ones out of the way. If she wasn't noticed for her intelligence, she wanted to avoid at any cost being noticed for her clumsiness and lack of respect, so she slipped inside the alcove and waited for them to pass.

Just when she was about to exit her retreat and advance towards the mountain of unfinished homework in her bedroom, she saw Tom Riddle and a few of his cronies coming from the direction of the Common Room. She stood still and waited for what she knew was a private conversation. In the old days, she would've left his vicinity immediately, but as a moth to the flame, she was attracted to his mind and utterly unable to pass the opportunity to delve deeper into the mysteries and wonders within.

So she stood in the relative safety of the alcove, but she was disappointed when the conversation was carried out in hushed voices. She was already tuning out, thinking about the Transfiguration homework Dumbledore had given her, when he looked straight at her.

The look caught her off-guard, and she was taken aback at the realization that he wasn't in the least bit surprised of seeing her there. Of course he must've noticed, she thought bitterly, he's too smart not to. She cursed herself for being careless with her watching, but before she could think of a way to look casual and get out of this unscathed, something in her mind clicked and she was hit by his beauty.

He had never been very handsome. Interesting, yes, with his angles and planes and the intelligence that sparked behind them. However, true beauty had eluded him until recently, when he shed any trace of goodness he might've had left. Now, with his eyes burning like dark flames and his features rock-still, he was breathtaking. Leave it to Riddle to look better when he stops being human, she thought as she sprinted behind the corner and into the Common Room. His cronies didn't notice her flee, as they were with their backs to her, and his face was so closed they never noticed his interest at what was going on behind them.

She sat on the edge of the bed, took a mirror from her bedside table and studied her reflection for any trace of emotion. She was satisfied to see there was none; her cheeks were their usual shade, not flushing, and her lips were still and sealed, not trembling.

Her self-control unshaken, she allowed herself to shudder inwardly at the memory of Riddle's eyes. She knew they were drowning, she knew they were dark and deep, but never knew they were piercing. She had never before felt their weight upon her, as she was too insignificant, but she started to understand the reactions of those who were constantly around him. She started to understand their fear, their terror, their fascination, and the reason they always came back for more. Once you felt the weight of his gaze, you couldn't back out. You were his, you would do his bidding, and you would be proud of it.

She felt he had beaten her at her own game, and with a single look; the thought of it was unbearable. She hated him, hated herself for being weak, hated the others for falling into his trap, and most of all, she hated Dumbledore for not staring him down in public. She hoped that would dampen the effect, blunt his power; because when the others saw he could be beaten, they wouldn't worship him anymore.

She would, though. His mind was the most incredible one she had ever come across, and if she had to lose herself in the research, she would do exactly that. In the end, there's no point living, if one doesn't do what one likes... and what she liked was playing. Even if she was losing.

She started doing her homework, while trying to ignore the flashbacks of the strange encounter she had had that evening. When she at last went to bed, she dreamed of a pair of eyes she hated more than anything else in the world. She dreamed of the dark, icy depths behind them, and woke up panting, inwardly cursing Riddle. She skipped breakfast in order to get to her first class on time.

~*~

During lunch, she caught his eyes drifting around her in a casual manner that didn't fool her for a moment. 'Don't worry, Riddle, I know how to put up a fight. Besides, I'm not like other girls, Tom; you can't make me swoon just by looking at me. It's like a snake trying to make me fall in love with it. Admiration is the only feeling you can instil in me, and I'm not about to make it public.' She met his gaze bravely, not flinching, and the hand holding the spoon didn't tremble in the slightest.

He raised an eyebrow the third time they stared each other down and his eyes narrowed to slits. It wasn't a frightening motion; he was in fact considering the new developments, not threatening to take her head off. Yet. He had expected her to turn her eyes away from his, perhaps a little ashamed of her conspicuousness the previous night, maybe even skip the meal altogether. The fact that she was staring him down was amusing, just like watching a spider before you kill it.

He was untouchable. She was in one of the most vulnerable positions, but she was strong-minded and determined to move even lower. She was trying to enter that endangered and ever-shrinking league of students that opposed him, and he wanted to toy with her for a while before crushing her.

He knew her game. She was an outsider to the Game and the ranks; she was an Observer. Along with the Fighters, they were his favourite prey. As any predator, he observed his prey and sometimes learned from it before finishing it off. If she had managed to get to know him well enough before being discovered, she would cower in a corner and beg for mercy. That was the Slytherin thing to do, because as an outsider, she couldn't get away with doing him a favour.

Maybe he should let her in. He was in his sixth year; she was in her fifth, so it wouldn't be strange. The others would soon realize she had gotten in on sheer strength and maybe he could use her brain and observation for more than social games. Maybe she could be used for his real goals. Now that the basilisk had been sent back to the Chamber and his name cleared upon serving the moronic Hagrid to Dippet, he had to gather as many followers as possible.

So he had turned up his dark and smooth charm, he had drowned every shred of human emotion in him, and he had built himself a true army of Slytherin and Ravenclaws. Most of them were mindless fools, blinded by his eyes and words, while some were reasonably intelligent, but could not challenge him.

What he lacked was someone smart and brave, capable of passion for the cause, and willing to be his apprentice. Those were the traits of Gryffindor House, and he couldn't recruit a Gryffindor, for with those qualities also came the tendency to rush into dangerous situations headfirst and brag about everything to their Housemates.

He considered her for the part. She possessed all the right qualities, and she was brave - or was it foolish? - enough to hold his look without quivering. There were two major setbacks: one, she was a girl, and girls were far too emotional and easily swayed to make good leaders; and two, she was an outsider. It was his doing, because he had excluded her from the Game as soon as had she arrived, and he knew he could solve the problem within a week, if he chose to do so.

But what about the first issue? Would she overcome her gender's shortcomings, or would she waste her talents on watching for the pleasure of it? As he looked at her once more, on the way out, he met her unfaltering stare and decided it was worth a shot. After all, he was already a sixth year, and could not afford to waste any more time looking. He had to start training the best person he could find for the position. Besides, he told himself while a little hair-raising smile surfaced on his lips; perhaps the fact that she is a girl will make the training more... enjoyable.

The smiled slipped from his mouth like water from marble. And if she refuses to become my apprentice or fails me after she accepts, she shall suffer the direst of consequences. She wouldn't be the first, although I must admit that watching her die would be less enjoyable than watching Myrtle.

A Hufflepuff passing by saw the different expression flickering on Tom Riddle's face, and until the day she died, she swore she always knew he would turn out to be a killer.

~*~

After dinner, Tom attended to his Prefect duties. His partner that day was Erin Longbottom, a Ravenclaw that had been in love with him for the past two years. He usually allowed her to do anything she wanted to him, but on this particular evening, his mind was too far away for her to cause any reaction. Well, his body reacted, but his eyes were fixed on the wall behind her, and she noticed it.

"Tom, what's the matter?"

His gaze travelled up and down her body, while a smirk at the corner of his mouth. "Nothing's the matter, Erin. I'm simply thinking of other things," he replied smoothly.

Her eyebrow shot up disbelievingly, and the smirk vanished.

"Get off of me," he sneered, and she scrambled off the hard, wooden table, dragging her clothes from underneath him in one swift motion. This caused a few splinters to rise, and one of them stung his thigh painfully. He jumped off and grabbed her arm, which was above her head. She was putting her sweater back on; her face was covered by it. She was cold, and all she wanted to do was find a nice book and read it in front of a cosy fire.

The vision of comfort disappeared when a wave of pain shot through her arm. He dug his fingers in the soft flesh underneath the bone, and then moved the tip of his thumb hard over the tendon. She let out a terrified sob, and realized she would have a nasty bruise in the morning. She would've been crying in terror, had she been able to see the expression of his face.

He leaned closer to her ear, and whispered, "Never make sudden moves around serpents. They might bite." She shuddered, and then relief flooded her when he released her arm. She didn't dare put her other hand over the throbbing area, for fear he might see it as weakness.

She pulled her sweater over her head, just in time to see him cast a healing charm on his thigh. She realized what had happened and cursed herself for being so clumsy. It had all been her fault; she had pulled at the clothes too hard, and a splinter had pierced his skin.

She made to say something, but he raised his hand, cutting her apology off. "Let's finish the round. I have matters to attend to."

Tears welled in her eyes, but she held them back. If Tom hated something, it was a woman crying. Weakness would cause further anger in him, and the last thing she wanted was to be cast out of his Inner Circle. She swallowed the painful lump in her throat and started returning the books on the tables to their respective shelves. He leaned against a bookcase and waited for her to finish, then walked her back to Ravenclaw Tower in silence.

~*~

He sat in the Common Room that night, waiting for her. She thought he didn't know anything about her, but she was wrong. Tom Riddle knew something about everybody, usually something compromising.

He knew Christa Sanders liked to watch. He knew she was worn out and tired. And he knew she had skipped both breakfast and dinner that day.

So it was no surprise to him when the Common Room door swung open to reveal her, pheasant halfway to her mouth, looking shocked by his intrusion in her two-in-the-morning solitude.